


ave imperator

by bluewalk



Series: EMPIRE collection [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:58:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewalk/pseuds/bluewalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>give up on my gallbladder, kiddo.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	ave imperator

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainkai](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=captainkai).



Sanji mentions him casually one day on the phone, over the clanging pots and sizzling grills of the Baratie kitchen, when Usopp calls to ask what time he’ll be home because someone needs to bring in the Venus flytraps before the big storm hits tonight.

"Late," Sanji says _._ "Going out for drinks with Gin."

Usopp almost doesn’t register the name as an anomaly rather than one of Sanji’s usual cohort of culinary-inclined thugs. Usopp knows every one of Sanji’s sort-of kind-of adopted uncles, most of who sport prison tattoos and multiple piercings and can whip up a seafood paella or a chocolate raspberry soufflé to, ahem, kill for. It’s the world’s worst-kept secret that they are also fiercely, overwhelmingly protective of their foul-mouthed little punk—I hate you but I'd take a bullet for you, two bullets even, and then thrash you for being stupid enough to stand in the line of fire—and they're even more so after Zeff’s recent retirement. This means that, despite all his vehement protesting and posturing, trash-talking, jabby-elbow Sanji has always known what it’s like to be loved and that’s why Sanji himself loves so easily.

So when that _name_ and all its implications catch up with Usopp, there’s a tiny, mean part of him that bares its teeth and latches onto that notion, that Sanji has always been too generous—he was raised that way—and that “going out for drinks” means absolutely nothing. Just drinks, and Sanji’s probably buying and Sanji would do it for anyone because that's just what Sanji does. Because when Sanji was young, Patty showed him how to count cards and Carne taught him cool lighter tricks and Joe sewed his loose buttons back on and Zeff sacrificed a dream for him, taught him how to fight so that kids at school wouldn’t pick on him for being scrawny and small, and now Sanji’s paying it all back. There are lots of people down on their luck in this city and Sanji has a bleeding heart for every one of them. It’s a charity case, Usopp tells himself. Nothing special. _Gin’s_ nothing special.

Except Usopp knows that Sanji doesn’t  _do_ charity because that’s not what Sanji was taught, and with Sanji, it doesn't feel like pity, but like getting exactly what you deserve. Even when he's scowling and spitting vitriol, he still makes you feel like you're entitled to that fresh plate of gingersnaps in his hand, because you caught that spider yesterday or because you've been really stressing out over your Organic Chemistry midterm. Sanji thinks—Sanji  _knows—_ that you have the world to give and he’s genuinely grateful for it (and proud of you) in his gruff kind of way. Because there are things you can do that he can't, and things he'll do for you because you can't, because you're not fast enough or strong enough or brave enough. And he'll say that he isn't better, just lucky. Lucky to have grown the way he has (lucky to know you).

But Usopp, who’s never spent a night on the streets and who’s never ever gone hungry in his life, can’t look Sanji in the eye when he talks about being lucky, because the signs are still there and will probably always be there, manifesting in excessively meticulous grocery lists, nights when Sanji would bolt out of bed to triple-check the expiration dates on the milk and eggs, the methodical, single-minded way Sanji eats when he’s alone and has no conversation to distract him.

But Sanji believes he is—lucky, that is—and Sanji, like Luffy, is always the quickest to smile (quicker than Chopper, who is often still too timid, and quicker than Usopp himself, who has always found it harder to be brave). Sanji and Luffy both have wide, even smiles that round their faces, make them look young and trusting, like they haven't been through loss and starvation and grief that wove itself into still-stretching bones. Like they don't actually spend their free time now kicking ass and taking names. Usopp loves them for that, and he loves that Luffy would bring down empires for you, he loves that Sanji would give and give and give and  _give_ , because if he deserved to be so lucky then so do you.

So now Usopp has to wonder what "going out for drinks" entails and what exactly does Gin have to offer that Sanji wants or, worse, needs. Usopp remembers Gin, half-dead but too proud to beg, the smile that was too sharp around the edges, the casual grip on the loaded gun. He remembers Gin's boss, but it's not Gin's boss that makes him nervous. Everyone knows Sanji is one of Luffy's now and that makes him untouchable. No, what makes Usopp go simultaneously cold and hot is what Gin would ask and what Sanji would not say no to.

“You still there, Longnose?”

"Yeah." Usopp tries for nonchalance. He's bad at it. "I didn't know you guys still talked."

"We ran into each other again recently. Now he menaces the green grocer for us when I'm too busy to do it myself. You wouldn't believe the slop we'd get otherwise."

"Right," Usopp mumbles. "I forgot he's in the business of menacing."

What he really wants to say is,  _do you know he's in love with you?_

He starts, "Do you know—"

But Sanji, stupid, oblivious Sanji who is never as stupid or as oblivious as Usopp sometimes thinks and hopes he is, cuts him off. "I got to go, the new line cook just sauntered in and dinner rush started SIX MINUTES AGO, SHITHEAD. Swear to god, the idiots I have to put up with—"

The line goes dead right after Usopp hears a terrified "FORGIVE ME, CHEF" from the other end. There's a distant rumble of thunder that makes his throat constrict and there's something coiled uncomfortably tight in his gut; he's honest enough to admit that it might be jealousy, dense and nauseating.

But almost immediately, his phone starts to vibrate in his hand and Sanji's name blinks at him from the screen.

"Hello?"

"You better not be sulking." It sounds quieter and  _darker_  somehow on Sanji's end, which means he's probably stepped into the cold storage space down the hall, away from the loud, well-lit mayhem of the kitchen.

"I'm not sulking!" He rubs his stomach, where the maybe-jealousy, maybe-fear has morphed into a nervous, fizzy feeling.

"Yeah, right. Stop it or I'll kick your ass. Dinner's in the fridge. Leftovers. Reheat it in the oven. If you nuke it in the microwave—and believe me, I'll know—I will also kick your ass. And get algae-brain to do the fucking dishes for once!"

"Are you done, mom?"

"Ha ha. Now go away and stop sulking at me, I'm busy."

Usopp decides not to point out that it was Sanji who called him back. Instead, he asks, "You'll be home tonight? After?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"And in one piece?"

"Christ, it's not like he's going to fucking harvest my organs."

"You don't know that," says Usopp ominously. "Guy's sketchy," he adds, trying and failing to keep the petulance out of his voice. He thought he outgrew this, but he hasn't, might never, and why should he, when Sanji is Luffy's. Is Usopp’s. Is _theirs_ , first and foremost, and no one else’s.

"Right, ok, I know you've always wanted my gallbladder, so I'll let Gin know you have dibs."

The way Sanji says his name so easily makes Usopp grimace. "That's not funny, Sanji."

"He'll cut you a good price for it. Not much demand for gallbladders on the black market, I don't think."

Usopp says nothing. He is too busy sulking at Sanji's apparent inability to take a serious thing seriously.

"Look, here's what's going to happen.” There's a grunt of effort as Sanji hauls something heavy off the shelves. Usopp hears whatever it is thud on the ground. "I'll get off work at eleven. I'll drink myself stupid at some bar because everyone around me is an incompetent ass out to make my life miserable. Yes, Gin will be there because even though he's an ass, at least he's not incompetent."

"But—"

"And no, my organs will remain securely inside my visceral cavities, so give up hope on my gallbladder, kiddo. I'll get home sometime around one and find that you microwaved the leftovers despite me telling you not to and I will kick your ass for it and leave you outside to die in the storm. Then, I will brush my teeth and go to bed and wake up at the ass-crack of dawn for work. If you're still alive before I leave and if I'm feeling generous, you can have some of my coffee and maybe one of the muffins I made for Nami. Is that acceptable?"

Usopp wants to say no. He wants to tell Sanji that he shouldn't be seeing Gin because Gin should be the enemy, Gin had hurt them, and Sanji, do you know—

"Yes," Usopp says. Because it is enough that Sanji is calling him in the middle of dinner rush from some cold, dark room away from his kitchen just to tell him to not to worry, and when Sanji says not to worry, you believe him. When Sanji says he'll find his way home, he will. And when Sanji puts his restaurant on hold for you, that means you better shut up and— "Wait, did you call me an incompetent ass?"

"I already moved your stupid plants this morning, asshole."

Sanji hangs up and Usopp wonders when he started grinning so wide.

Lucky is the word for it.


End file.
